


A Quiet Day

by sophiegaladheon



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Chocolate Box Exchange, Denial of Feelings, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Rivalry, Unresolved Tension, unsubtle Babylon 5 easter egg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 12:53:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13659378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiegaladheon/pseuds/sophiegaladheon
Summary: Quark is up to something.  Odo can feel it.





	A Quiet Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kmfillz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmfillz/gifts).



> Happy chocolatebox!

Quark is up to something. Odo can, to borrow a human expression, feel it in his bones. If he had bones, that is. Unfortunately, ‘feel it in his morphogenic matrix’ just doesn’t have the same ring to it. Perhaps Jake Sisko could come up with a turn of phrase that did not rely so heavily on Solid anatomy. Later, Odo thinks, he might ask. But not now. Now was not the time. Because Quark is up to something, and Odo cannot figure out what.

The Ferengi bartender—conman, criminal, representative of the Promenade Merchants’ Association—has been quiet for weeks. Not in decibels, certainly not. Odo is certain that the only way Quark will stop talking is when he is dead. But in . . . conspiracy. There have been no plots, no schemes, no _nothing_. Not for weeks! And it is making Odo very, very suspicious. 

It is still early in the morning, and the Promenade is quiet. Vendors finish setting up their shops for the day, harried stragglers in the full rainbow range of Starfleet and Bajoran uniforms rush to their posts, a few sluggish patrons sip raktajinos at the replimat. Odo lets out a small ‘humph’ of satisfaction and turns towards Quark’s. 

The bar is open but nearly empty. Quark is there, of course, pouring a drink for Morn. “That doesn’t even make any sense,” Quark says to Morn, his back turned to Odo as the constable approaches and leans against the counter, “If you couldn’t even catch them, then how do you know-”

“Good morning, Quark,” Odo interrupts, unwilling to get caught up in one of the Lurian’s infamous tales. 

“Ah, Odo,” says Quark, spinning around to face him, a wide, customer service smile on his face. “How are you this morning, Constable?”

Odo’s frown deepens. “What are you up to, Quark?”

“Up to? Up to, he says. What I am up to, Constable, is running a bar—a perfectly legal business venture, I might add—and, at the moment, being harassed by the authorities. Is that what you meant?”

“Harassed, you say, harassed. A friendly greeting and a casual inquiry is hardly harassment. Unless, of course, someone went and changed the definition while I was not looking. And in that case, I fear you will have more to worry about than I.”

“Is that a threat, Constable?”

“Just an observation.”

Quark hums and swipes at the counter with a cloth. “Then why are you here, Odo, if not to harass me and bother my customers?”

“What customers, Quark? Morn is the only one willing to put up with your company at this hour of the morning.”

“Perhaps that’s true,” says Quark, with an uncharacteristically sanguine shrug as he looks around the empty bar, “But,” he adds with a grin, “You’re here too, Odo.”

“Quark,” Odo draws the name out in warning, but only gets that smug, charming smile in reply. He can feel the weeks of frustration and annoyance coalescing into anger and his frown deepens. Quark only smiles. With a final harumph, Odo spins on his heels and marches back to the Security office, a final, mocking laugh from Quark ringing in his ears. 

It is only after the door has slid firmly shut behind him that he realizes that he never even got an excuse from Quark. He is slipping. Or Quark is getting better at deflecting. He shakes his head and scowls. Both options are equally unthinkable.

The day inches by at an unbearable pace. Not even the usually relaxing rhythms of paperwork and bureaucracy can distract him from the infuriating puzzle presented by Quark. And that, in and of itself, is even more aggravating. Quark is not supposed to be this interesting. Quark is supposed to be dependable. Well, dependable in the sense that he can be relied upon to be himself. To have Quark suddenly not behaving like Quark, well. Odo shakes his head.

Interesting is not the right word. Quark is not _interesting_. He is, at the moment, _of interest_. His behavior is . . . _concerning_. That is the correct term. It is a matter of concern. And, when a character like Quark behaves in a concerning manner, it is of interest to law enforcement. For the safety and well-being of all the residents of the station.

Yet, even with all his concern, or interest, or whatever he wishes to call it, focused on the question, Odo still cannot figure out what Quark is up to. He finally gives up on paperwork and spends the afternoon patrolling the Promenade with even more diligence than usual, at least until Captain Sisko asks him to stop.

“You’re making people nervous,” he says, “We’ve had complaints from the Promenade Merchants’ Association that you’re frightening the customers away.” 

A glare over his shoulder in the direction of the bar receives a cheery smile and a wave from Quark. Odo scowls, but nods to the Captain and moves off to inspect the cargo bays. 

One illegal shipment of Dust later, Odo thinks he has finally caught on to Quark’s plotting, but the irate Bolian freighter captain insisting his cargo was “vital to religious observances on Narn” and that impounding it was “religious persecution”—Odo rolls his eyes, he’s heard that one before, and he isn't buying it—soon dispels the notion. Arresting the Bolian makes him feel a little better, but only a little. 

By the end of his shift, Odo has had enough. He has reviewed all of his logs of Quark’s activities for the past two weeks and found nothing suspicious. Except that, at least in regards to Quark, the lack of suspicious activity is, in and of itself, suspicious. 

The furrow between his eyes is deep enough to plant kava seeds. His subordinates give one another worried looks as he stalks out of the security office and heads towards the bar. Quark is up to something. And it is downright infuriating that he cannot figure out what. It is not as if the man is usually that difficult to parse. Subtlety is not his strong suit. Not by a long shot. If there is one thing Quark can be depended on to be, it is a grasping, greedy, stereotype of Ferengi values. 

Odo does not allow himself to think on what it means that Quark is so often so bad at adhering to the spirit of those values, even as he clings so tightly to the letter.

But to have Quark seemingly abandon his most visible and consistent traits! Something is up, and it offends Odo’s professional pride that he cannot determine what it is. Not to mention, given this is Quark, it is a matter of station security that whatever plot the Ferengi is up to be uncovered.

With the good of the station in mind, Odo again slides up to the window of the bar. It is, of course, busier now than it had been in the morning, off-duty station personnel relaxing with a drink or playing dabo. Morn is still at his stool, Lieutenant Commander Dax sips a frightful looking beverage at the bar, and Odo can see Chief O’Brien and Doctor Bashir disappearing up the stairs towards the holosuites in some new outrageous costumes. Everything appears exactly as it should be.

“Quark,” Odo says, glowering at the bartender.

“Not now, Odo, I’m busy.” Quark bustles by to slide a plate in front of Dax.

Odo looms across the bar. “Quark.”

“Fine, what do you want?”

“What are you up to, Quark?” It occurs to him only in this moment that he does not have a viable plan of attack with which to confront Quark, any more than he did this morning.

Quark gestures to the bar. “I run a business, Odo. Can I get you something? Or are you just here to harass me and bother my customers again?” He picks up a cloth to polish the bar.

“I know you’re up to something, Quark.”

“Do you have any proof?” The towel scrubs vigorously at a spot on the bartop.

“I know you’re up to something because you’re you. You’re always up to something.” Not his greatest ever line of logical reasoning.

“Ah, yes.” Quark puts down the towel and leans against the bar, his face almost close enough for his nose to tough Odo’s. “You make a fair point of character analysis. But. I will point out, that you do not have any evidence that I am, as you say, up to something, right now. And without proof of guilt or even evidence of a crime, I might add, you have no business coming here and harassing me.” 

He pulls back, face morphing from serious intent to its usual customer service grin. “Unless you’d care for a drink?” 

Odo recoils. He cannot, for once, find fault with Quark’s argument, and he despises him for it. That feeds into a wave of self-disgust, that he let himself get so far from his own rules and methodologies and scruples. This truly has gotten out of hand. He declines to answer, other than to give a parting harumph and a nod and turns to head back down the Promenade.

He clearly needs a break, to spend time regenerating, and then perhaps catalog the security report archive. Yes, perhaps that would help. Something to get his mind off whatever Quark is up to. He shakes his head. If he were a Solid, he is sure he would be blushing. It has been a long time since he has allowed himself to become this compromised.

* * *

As Odo hurries away back to the Security office, angry footsteps muffled by the crowd and the carpeted floor, Dax takes Quark’s elbow and pulls him aside.

“What are you up to?” she asks, a mischievous smile playing at her lips, “You’re messing with him, aren’t you. So what’s the story?”

Quark looks around furtively, then pulls Dax down to say “He’s fun to mess with. And anyway, it’s good for him. Keeps him on his toes.”

“That looks distracted, not on his toes.” Quark shrugs nonchalantly, and Dax raises an eyebrow. “But what _are_ you doing? Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

“Nothing!” Quark laughs. “That’s the beauty of it. I haven’t had a scheme in weeks. I’m very self-sacrificing you know, it’s been a terrible hardship.” 

“Oh, of course, of course, and you’ve gotten nothing out of this little game of yours, I’m sure.” Dax’s smile turns knowing.

“Of course not, I’m a veritable paragon of generosity.”

“You are terrible. You enjoy watching him turn himself inside out chasing ghosts.”

“Lies and slander. I don’t know why I associate with you.”

“I throw great parties. And you keep hoping you’ll win back your tongo losses.”

“Oh, right.”


End file.
